I am so LOST

Lost: The Last Supper - GET IT?!

So I'm looking for something to do after a good day of writing, sitting with friends, and a 40 k bike ride (20 ks into a 40 k SW wind, and 20 ks with it) and I walk into the TV room and there's Bekah surfing for something to watch. There's not a lot of wave in our house; we get CBC, CTV, CKND, CityTV, and occasionally Fox. We settle on CTV.

It's Lost. I'm convinced that it's a two hour recap, a bring-the-lost-ones-up-to-speed episode, designed to prepare me for the finale. But pretty soon I'm thinking it's too linear for that - if linear is a word that one can ever apply to this show - there aren't enough cuts and split screens and flashforwards, backwards, and sideways. Still, nothing is surprising me. I'm watching a show that I haven't watched for four seasons, that we watched quite avidly for the first two seasons (the whole fam was kinda into it - we had family time around the old DP every Wednesday night (I think) at about 9 PM) and then just lost (pun clearly intended) interest. Plot twists and convolutions are all right, but they have to have an air of plausibility, or, failing that, a sense of confidence and authorial control. These things were not evident to us. At least with the Harry Potter books - which we (Sara, Bekah, and I were reading them together) ditched after the fifth because we just couldn't abide Harry's whining (whinging?), and Rowling's bloated prose - we could see that someone had an eye on the endgame; the plot kept singing along, with holes plugged, and major events falling into place, with some logic. Lost just, well, lost it. And they lost us. And now here I am four years later, picking it up like I didn't miss anything. Sure there are a few characters I struggle to recall names for, but I've seen them before. And nothing they are doing, is surprising, or interesting, me.

So here we are, Bekah and I, having a moment of TV-watching-time, the first TV we've watched together in months, and it's Lost. And we're both sort of feeling it, feeling that it's not too bad, but not too great. But as we both start to out loud wonder whether this isn't in fact the finale, I feel a mix of chagrin and incredulity, because we both can see where it's going. But who wants to admit it? The feeling grows and grows. This is the finale. This is the way they're going to end it. And the way these much-lauded (by some) genius writers are going to do it ... wait for it ... is to acknowledge that, in fact, they are all dead, and that what they were doing on that island of lostness, was making a place where they could find one another in the afterlife, when they were ready to leave, or, as Jack's Dad Christian (realllly???!) puts it, to move on. To put a period on that big family-Bible-sized club they're hitting us over the head with, this all takes place in a church! The church in which Jack's Dad's funeral was going to be held. And in that church ... wait for more of it ... backdropping Jack and Christian's reveried revelatory conversation is a stained-glass window of six squares, each representing a major religious symbol: Muslim, Jewish, Christian, Yin Yang, etc! When Jack accepts it, he walks out into the sanctuary to meet all of his friends from the island! Sigh. We can all rest easy now, knowing they're all together forever, in a place they made to find one another.

This is terrible writing. This is grade 8 "he woke up to realize it was all a dream" writing. From this evidence I might posit that these guys never knew where they were going or how they were going to get there. They never had a real mystery thriller in mind, or if they did, they're too terrible to control it and pull it all together into something coherent. I am not speechless. But I just don't understand how writers this high up the "ladder" with all of these resources (and a good long break during the writers' strike to set things up) can't create something mature and interesting. I've heard talk of Lost being a breakthrough show that has proven that audiences can manage complex storytelling and convoluted plotlines. If this is the end result of these complexities and convolutions, I protest.

I have a theory. That all of the expensive (not necessarily good, but most likely Hollywood) writing these days is aimed at the 16 - 25 year old audience. And specifically at those who play video games. These so-called complex and difficult plots have episodes that vary widely in plot and character placement, to mirror the "levels" of games. The characters in these levels are presented with a problem that they must solve. They have few choices, and must "get it right" to move ahead: Jack has to go down into the hole (not Hurley, not Ben, but Jack because he's the one), rescue Desmond, put the stone thingy into the fire-hole thingy, and thus "save" the island. Jack levels up. Then Jack, finding himself in an entirely different setting, has to want to get out, wander through a bamboo forest, finally allow his body to rest, give in to the "eternal" force, enjoy the dog licking his face, smile, and accept his fate. He levels up again. But this is his final leveling up. This is him winning the game! Accepting the terminus!

For every character in the "game" called "Lost" the process is the same. Problem-presented. Solution-found. Level-up. New setting, new problem, new solution. Level-up. If this is storytelling, it's a new genre, and I'm not convinced it's a step forward. It's simplistic, predictable, and only superficially complex. Most of the complexity arises from the constantly shifting settings and new characters one must confront. But the problems that are presented are similar and banal: make sure you punch in the right numbers before the time runs out; make sure everyone moves off of the beach; make sure you get the medicine from the bad guy (punch him up too); make sure there's enough water; make sure that Jacob is satisfied; and so on.

Look for this same delightful pattern in most new blockbusters coming to a theatre near you! No need for characters to develop. They may grimace and groan, become ecstatic, furrow their brows and push forward, have sex to pass the time in fleeting pseudo-intimate moments. But don't worry, they will not confront complex questions of being, alone or together. So neither will you! Just know that when we've solved our final problem, when we finish the final level, we'll all be together on the couch of happiness, in front of the screen of oblivion! So-ma! So-ma! So-ma!

If I was a video-game writer writing this right now, I'd probably know how to end it. I'd find some avatar that would allow me to understand this new form of human. I'd transform. I'd transmogrify. I'd transport. I would win! Epically! But I would not transcend. I would not want too, because I would not recognize transcendence if I met the Dalai Lama on the Darjeeling Express.

To be fair, the guys who are writing video-games are probably not story-tellers. They are probably graphic designers and code geeks just trying to get by. So I'm not sure they're to blame. They're making money doing what they do. And to me, it looks like these guys are making money in Hollywood too.